Are You Sure She's On Our Side?
by Manchester
Summary: Hymie was recharging, nobody could find Agent 13, Larabee was never even considered, and 99 was having her hair done, so that left Max to be the tour guide for the new liaison with the International Watchers' Council. Big mistake.


Two hands with fingernails done in coral pink shoved hard against the swinging doors, sending both panels back with so much force that their hinges shattered, and the now-loose doors then crashed against the walls, causing the entire underground facility to shake.

A few seconds later, a pen was put down by a bald, distinguished-looking man seated at his desk, who then looked ahead, and sighed.

"Max."

"Yes, Chief?"

That answer came from behind the seated man.

"Do you have any idea what that noise was?"

There was a few moments' silence, until the second voice spoke again, a bit defensively. "Why would you think I know?"

The bald man closed his eyes, and sighed once more. Still keeping his eyes shut, this man said very patiently, "It might be because just now you ran into my office and hid behind my chair."

"Oh." After that, more silence continued, covering up someone's furious thinking. Finally, a suggestion was hopefully offered.

"Would you believe it's a giant mouse the size of a rhinoceros created in a secret Kaos laboratory and sent by those no-goodniks to eat all the cheese in our cafeteria?"

As the man seated at the desk considered this, dainty fingers dug in the slit between closed sliding doors, bending metal until these fingers got enough of a grip to yank these doors apart, with another tremendous crash being felt through the facility, including by the bald man, who responded with, "No, Max, I wouldn't believe that."

"Well, then, would you believe a commando raid by eight very fit Norwegian blonde women, all over six feet tall, and wearing fur bikinis?"

"I seriously doubt that, Max. Norway is a country allied with us."

Someone squatted on their heels, reaching under the bottom of another door, to quickly heave this up, causing an ear-splitting screech as the door slid upwards and then abruptly stopped with a thunderous bang, all quite discernable to both persons in the office.

"How about a very determined Girl Scout looking to sell all of her cookies, even those shortbread kind that nobody buys?"

Just as the bald man sighed again, and opened his mouth to comment on that last, he had to wait until the savage pounding on another door ended, as that panel with a fake jail cell design painted on it fell back onto the floor in a combined din of another mighty bang!, accompanied by an exultant female whoop of victory. Clearly changing his mind about what he'd been going to say, the seated man said with a great deal of exasperation in his voice, "Max, why is Buffy Summers punching her way back into our building after her tour here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Chief."

Smash, tinkle, screech, as a telephone booth was demolished and a trapdoor was being pried open, to the sounds of a young woman angrily shouting, "I hate you, Maxwell Smart, hate you, hate you, really, really hate you!"

"Well, Max?"

"She seemed to be a little cranky when she was leaving--"

"Maybe that was because when you took her to our laboratory and showed off a pen with invisible ink, you sprayed very visible black ink on her imported, one-of-a-kind Italian blouse. Plus, on the firing range you demonstrated our new flare gun and in the process managed to scorch off her eyebrows. Lastly, in the gym, when she agreed to spar with you, right off you used your special cufflinks and tear-gassed her."

"That one was totally the fault of my dry cleaners! They switched the wrong outfits, so instead of Monday's suit with the smoke bomb cufflinks, I got the Wednesday cufflinks. Look, Chief, let's be a man about it and just be glad they didn't foul up enough to give me the Tuesday suit."

"What's so special about the Tuesday cufflinks?"

"High explosives." A happy, descending shriek of pure vengeance was heard, producing the next comment, "Which I'm really wishing for at this moment."

"Maaaaax."

"Look, everything was fine, until she got to the last door! I have to say, if Building Services ever listened to my complaints, this wouldn't be happening--"

"What did you do?!"

"You know that door is always a little slow, so I pushed the button to close it right after she got to it, so it'd swing shut just as she left. I was looking at the button, not the security camera! It's not my fault she had to stop right there to bend over to tie her shoelace!"

"Oh, no….."

"I'm afraid so. The doors swung shut and clamped onto her butt."

Outside the office, the reception room doors became several hundred pounds of splinters.

"Max."

"Yes, Chief?"

"If, in the next few seconds, you say the words, 'Sorry about that, Chief,' I'm going to hand you over to her on a silver platter."

"Sorr-- Um. Would you accept an "Oopsie-woopsie, Chief?'"

"No, Max."

"Missed it by that much!"

The door to the office was kicked open, with the entire panel tearing off the hinges, flying free to crash into the opposite wall. Breathing fire, Buffy Summers now stepped into the room, stopping to glare at the seated man looking concerned, with sounds of someone whimpering coming from behind his chair, while the Slayer absently rubbed the back of her squashed jeans.

* * *

Author's Note: Steve Carell and Alan Arkin tried their best, but Max and the Chief will always be Don Adams and Edward Platt for me, and I wrote this story while having their images and voices in my mind. Thanks, guys.

P.S.: To anybody protesting that the shows were separated by an entire generation, hey, it's entirely possible that something could have gone wrong in the Control labs, with a diabolical device stolen from Kaos being investigated and somehow producing a timeslip that threw the entire building forty years forward into the Buffyverse. Especially if Max was around and pressed a button….


End file.
